Friday, May 25, 2012

In Memory of Professor John Miles Foley, my first teacher of Old English

In
Honor of John Miles Foley

“Traditions:
Oral and Beyond”

International
Medieval Congress, 2012

Back
in 1991-93, when I was John’s M.A. student at Mizzou, I used to glom on to him during
the walk back from the Arts and Sciences building to Tate Hall. Or I
would trail along with him over to the Center for Studies in Oral Tradition, and
other times he and I would arrive at the parking garage at the same time and I
would walk along with him to class. I
must have been incredibly annoying,
and it’s testament to John’s kindness and generosity that he never said “would
you just leave me alone to walk to class without jabbering at me.”

And
I’m so glad he didn’t, because I learned an awful lot in those walks. In particular, two things stand out, which
are related to my contribution today on the theme of Tradition: Oral and Beyond.

The
first thing that I learned on those walks was how important the comparative
method was to John. I know when we look at his immense accomplishments that this
point seems totally obvious, and I was certainly a bit of dullard, but it took
me a long time to really understand all of what John was teaching and how
important comparanda were to everything we would talk about. I had some crazy project in mind where I
would go to Finland and collect tales (setting aside that Elias Lonnrot had
already done this more than a century before, that I didn’t speak the language,
and that a multitude of Finnish scholars were already way ahead of where I could hope to
be). John didn’t laugh out loud at the project—which collapsed due to my
inability to grasp 16 noun cases in the grammatical structure of Finnish—but
instead just said quietly “not enough students realize that they really need to
go somewhere and listen to oral works in their own cultural situation.” Although I
never did go to Finland, I took in the core of that comment, which has two
parts. The first, and the obvious, is
that at some stage of your investigation you try to understand the work
in the context of the situation in which a particular human being produced it, one of its many immediate cultural matrices. The second, which is less obvious but connected to my
theme, is that to be a great scholar you need to stretch yourself, to go beyond
what is right in front of you, to try to compare your object of study with
others that might have something in common with it—because oral artforms share certain forms and
dynamics—and to recognize that verbal artforms are different and particular
because individual traditions have specific rules, what John identifies as tradition
dependence. You can’t figure these
things out without being a comparatist.

The
second important thing I learned on those walks was the sheer intellectual
power of the oral-traditional approach, which is really in some important ways
now (though he would disavow this label) the John Foley approach. John often
quoted a line from Albert Lord’s The
Singer of Tales: “Oral’ tells us how, but ‘traditional’ tells us ‘what’ and
even more ‘of what kind’ and ‘of what force.’” The “oral” component of oral
tradition was vitally important to John not only because, as he was fond of
pointing the vast, vast majority of all verbal artforms produced in human
history have been oral (yet we spend all our time studying texts), but also
because John simply loved oral performances.
He made us memorize and recite Caedmon’s Hymn before we could translate
it, and its still his voice I hear in my head when I in turn teach it to my students this way. But oral is just a particular
kind of tradition. John was particularly interested in the constellation of
features and the particular constraints that came from the oral context, but
anaphora, traditional referentiality, immanence, the influence of the
performance arena and other phenomena he both documented and explained were
relevant not only to the gigantic corpus of oral artforms, but to those in
writing, non-verbal music, visual art and behavior as well. What I learned from
John, tagging along with him back to Tate Hall, asking annoying questions about
Old English and Beowulf and oral
tradition, was that you could take the insights that John had into oral and
oral-derived texts and use them to explain other traditional phenomena, and
that traditions of all sorts had an awful lot of features in common. John at least once told me that these were
just easier to see in oral traditions—but I think they were just easier to see because we had John pointing them out.

So
when I say “oral and beyond” in my title for this appreciation, I want to call attention to the incredible value
of John’s work for understanding how human cultures work. Because traditions are everywhere, and they
operate in strikingly similar ways, and we understand them because John took
the time to be comparative, to understand the poems and the texts in their own
terms and in terms of the universal phenomena embodied in them. That is the genius of the comparative method,
and of John’s work: learning more and more about South Slavic or Anglo-Saxon or
Ancient Greek traditions, becoming as fully disciplinary in those fields as
possible—learning the languages and the scholarship and forming opinions on the
disputed questions—gives you insight into the way the world works. And the beauty of this approach is the wide
range of insights we get into the ways these processes work themselves out in
disparate traditions throughout the world.

I
don’t know if I ever talked with John about Darwinian approaches to culture
when he was my teacher, though in editing my first article for Oral Tradition he pushed me very hard—as
perhaps only a beloved teacher and mentor can—to cut, to clarify, to justify, and he made that article what it
is.But, whether or not John and I ever talked about Darwinian cultural evolution, there is a quotation from Darwin
that, to me, captures not only what has been important in John’s work, but
where it may lead us. This is from the very end of The Origin of Species:

It is interesting to contemplate an entangled bank,
clothed with many plants of many kinds, with birds singing on the bushes, with
various insects flitting about, and with worms crawling through the damp earth,
and to reflect that these elaborately constructed forms, so different from each
other, and dependent on each other in so complex a manner, have all been
produced by laws acting around us.

John celebrated both the particular forms, endless and
most beautiful, and the ways they
were produced, with a joy in both the things he studied and the work that he
did. The world is a greater place for his contributions, but a much lesser place without him in it. I will try to live up to the example he set as a scholar, a teacher, and a friend.

2 comments:

I looked at your blog for the first time in years and saw your note about Professor Foley's passing. I, a music graduate student, took his Intro to Old English class in 1996, just because it seemed interesting. I can only imagine how he must have felt as I peppered him with questions about Anglo-Saxon poetic rhythm that completely missed the point. Glad to know I wasn't alone.

So sorry to hear about the passing of John Miles Foley, whom I knew only as a fellow specialist and saw at conferences, but whose work I respected. Old English is a subject increasingly not taught, and with its dimunition as a field in universities comes the concomitant loss of understanding of what the language and its culture contributed to modern civilization. Thanks for letting us know about John.--Jane Chance

About Me

I am Professor of English and Director of the Center for the Study of the Medieval at Wheaton College, Norton, Mass., where I teach Old English (Anglo-Saxon), Middle English, medieval literature, fantasy, science fiction and writing. I am also a Millicent C. McIntosh Fellow. My scholarship is focused on tenth-century English literature and culture, meme-based theories of culture, and the works of J. R. R. Tolkien.